Purgatory
by MLGumm
Summary: Dean's been stripping for the past few years to help pay for his brother, Sam's, upcoming college education. Castiel is a theology major just trying to pay for his last semester before he gets his Masters. They meet Cas' first night on the job and it all goes downhill (uphill?) from there.
1. Chapter 1

Sam Winchester did not know what his brother did on Thursday nights, but he was pretty sure he didn't like it. Fridays were the one day of the week he had to take the bus to school, because Dean never came home before 4 o'clock in the morning.

Sam had his suspicions about what his brother was up to. He saw the extra money that showed up in his college fund on Friday afternoon like clockwork and had dark thoughts about drag races and drugs and witnesses that never made it to court. These thoughts would be gone by the next time Dean tried to cook him quinoa because he heard it was healthy and easy to make, or overheard him whispering endearments to the Impala.

If Dean had been aware of these thoughts he would have been proud. He didn't spend an hour after every performance showering off glitter for his brother to know what he actually did.

* * *

Rainin' Men Night at Purgatory was a crowded and noisy affair. While women stripped every other night of the week, every Thursday from 8 p.m. to 3 a.m. the appletini's were half price and the men half naked.

Dean tipped his cowboy hat and winked at the cheering crowd of men and women surrounding the stage, bending over to pick up the dollar bills that hadn't quite made it into his G-string. He smirked as he felt a few more dollars get added to the back, going in for a quick grope before retreating quickly. A group of middle aged women tittered and catcalled their braver friend, a tipsy woman in a tiara that proclaimed her a "Bride to Be."

"That was the 'Hunter', ladies and gentlemen. Give him a hand. Hell of a last temptation isn't he?" Gabe, the bartender, announced over the microphone he kept under the bar.

Dean sauntered off the stage with a bit more swagger to his walk than was really necessary, counting his money. It was a decent haul, all told, and he disappeared into the dressing room feeling accomplished.

As he prepared to leave, freshly showered with a baseball cap pulled low over his face, Gabe called out to him. "Dean, no, man, wait up. You're gonna wanna see this. We got fresh meat in today. Becky made him up like an angel. I swear to fuck I've never seen someone look so grumpy over a costume."

Dean climbed onto a barstool at the mostly empty bar. Easily 90% of the patrons were crowded around the stage, drunkenly swaying to the terrible music and waiting for the next dancer to appear. "Yeah?" he said. "You let him get drunk first?"

"I offered, but he said something about integrity and drinking on the job," he said, sliding a beer over to Dean without prompting.

Dean snorted. "He's gonna be regretting that now."

"At least it'll be funny."

Becky appeared at the edge of the stage then, peeking out from the curtain and giving them a discreet thumbs up and a giant smile. She disappeared. Gabe took out the mic and said, "Showtime."

"We here at Purgatory tend to blend the line between heaven and hell, and out latest performer if further proof that we put the naughty in nice. Why don't you give it up for our newest dancer the 'Fallen Angel'!"

The crowd roared, the noise almost deafening. Dean leaned back against the bar and waited for the show to begin.

The Angel, as it turned out, was a semi-tall, lightly muscled, pale man with neat black hair. He walked stiffly onto the stage, squinting as the stage light found him. He was completely naked except for a pair of speedo-like briefs, a flimsy halo, some little black wings, and, inexplicably, a bright blue tie.

The crowd cried out again and the music for his first dance started. He blinked up at the light for a few more moments before he seemed to remember what he was supposed to be doing. Hesitating only slightly, he began to sway his narrow hips. The move was more mechanical than sexy, but the club was full of people to drunk and horny to care. They cheered again, and he began to really start dancing.

As Dean watched he came to the conclusion that this dude would never really have much rhythm in his soul, but he was doing pretty good for his first time out. On Dean's first time he drank half a bottle of whisky and spent more time clutching the pole so he wouldn't fall off the stage than actually dancing.

Seeing that the guy was doing fine, and therefore wasn't going to be very funny, he finished his beer and prepared to get up to leave. But his movement must have caught the new guy's eye or something because he looked up and suddenly Dean was looking into a pair of the bluest eyes he'd ever seen. They practically glowed in the shimmering light and Dean was suddenly reminded of a picture Sam showed him once of a dying star, shining from somewhere deep inside and so blue no ocean could ever hope to match it. Their eyes caught and held. Dean couldn't quite bring himself to look away and the Angel didn't seem inclined to even try.

Gabriel nudged him and Dean turned back to bar with a start. "You good to drive? You're looking a little dazed."

"It was one beer, I'll be fine," Dean said, coming back to himself. The rest of the club suddenly seemed dark in comparison to the stages flashing lights and he was having some trouble readjusting.

He nodded to Gabe and slipped out the door, carefully not letting himself look back towards the stage. The Impala waited for him patiently out in the cool night air. He slipped into her gratefully and went to the Roadhouse, like he always did on Thursdays. He was greeted by Ellen with a piece of pie, which she always made sure to save just for him. He sat down with Bobby, who was actually eating breakfast before opening the garage for the morning. Fridays were Dean's day off from the garage, but Bobby was more like another father than a boss and Dean usually sat with him until he left. Bobby left when Dean was only 3 beers in. Then, as usual, Dean got pleasantly drunk and left the Impala in the lot.

And if instead of going to spend what was left of the night with a girl like he usually did, he walked home and drunkenly googled dying stars to try and find that picture, well. It was no one's business but his.

* * *

Author's note: I meant to post this as a big, single chapter story, but I really want a beta!reader to go over the rest with me and figured that I'd be more likely to get one this way. (Also, I'm impatient.) So, if you're interested, send me a message!


	2. Chapter 2

Benny came rumbling with displeasure into the garage about half past two the next Monday.

Dean raised an eyebrow and Benny sighed. "There's a lemon on the way in, smokin' up a storm under the hood," he explained in a tired Southern drawl.

"You want me to take it?" Dean asked, not really wanting to do it, but willing. The garage was a bit slow at the moment and he didn't mind the idea too much.

"Nah," Benny said, "I got it. Thanks. You mind going over the paperwork with the guy, though?"

"On it," Dean said, already headed to the sink to take care of his hands.

* * *

Holy shit, it was the Angel.

It wasn't like Dean ever expected to see the guy again. After all, while the town wasn't necessarily _big,_ but it was a college town, large enough to catch someone's eye and then never see them again. Even if they did see each other it would probably just be between dances as one of them arrived to or was just about to leave Purgatory.

But there he was, blinking in startled recognition at Dean with those big, blue eyes and a slight flush to his stubbled, pale cheeks. He looked more like a homeless model than anything in his rumpled, oversized suit and shapeless trenchcoat.

"Hello," he said in a voice that sounded like he was the voice actor for every anime villain, ever. Jesus, did he gargle with whiskey and thumbtacks or something?

Maybe he could pretend that he didn't recognize him. "Hey, I'm Dean. Welcome to Bobby's Junkyard. Um, Benny's taking care of your car, and I just need you to fill these out real quick while he gets started." He grabbed the paperwork, a clipboard, and one of the cheap pens they kept lying around, proud of how casual he was being.

The guy took them after a quick glance, then looked back at Dean and licked his lips. "Forgive me if I'm being forward, but were you at Purgatory on Thursday, by any chance?"

And there went pretending it never happened. Dean looked around the tiny, cluttered reception area nervously before he answered. It was one thing for Bobby to already know about it in abstract; there was no reason to talk about so that someone else might hear.

"Yeah. Got to say, you did a lot better than I did my first time out."

He blinked again and Dean had this odd feeling like he was storing that piece of information away. The man was about to say something when the sound of Benny's cussing and the hiss of the fire extinguisher called Dean back to the garage. He left the man with the paperwork and pen, rushing off to help his friend.

* * *

An hour, an extinguisher, and an inspection of the clearly gone for car later, Dean headed back into the waiting room. Inside the man looked up from the gardening magazine he'd been reading quickly putting it back amongst the others on the little table in the center of the room. He picked up the clipboard with the information filled out in what looked like neat block letters.

"I'm sorry, man, but there's nothing we can do for her," Dean said, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

The man nodded gravely. "It's been a while coming. I suppose I should find another…" He frowned, looking through Dean, lost in thought.

Dean had this odd urge to offer the stranger a ride, but that was stupid, obviously. He didn't even know the guy's name, much less his schedule. (Unless you counted Thursday nights.) People just didn't do that.

Instead Dean grabbed the clipboard, flipped over the paperwork, and started to write down the names of some of the better second hand dealerships in town. "Listen, if you need a new car just go to one of these places and tell them Dean sent you. They'll set you up right."

He passed the paper to the man, who smiled. "Thank you, Dean. You're very kind. Is there some way I can repay you?"

"Don't even worry about it. I gotta get back to work, but if you want to talk to someone about your car my boss Bobby will be here in a sec. Good luck." Dean gave him one last wave and disappeared into the garage again.

A few hours later he realized that he never got the man's name. For a while he contemplated asking Benny or Bobby, but decided that would be weird. It wasn't like it mattered anyway.

* * *

By Thursday Dean was determined to ask the man his name. It was just common courtesy, he told himself; after all, the guy knew his. Besides, they were coworkers. Kind of.

He nodded at Gabe on his way backstage. The night was young and only a few of the warm-up dancers had been up on stage so far. A mix of mostly women and a few men were steadily working their way towards wasted all over the bar. A couple of them recognized him and looked ready to call out, but he managed to silence them with a conspiratorial wink.

Once he got backstage everything simplified into habit. He put on his cowboy hat, boots with spurs, leather vest, and ass-less, breakaway chaps. He wasn't sure why they called him the Hunter and dressed him as a cowboy, but Chuck tended to leave these decisions up to Becky and Dean didn't want to think too deeply about her thought process. So instead of wondering he got up on stage and ripped off his pants (such as they were). He growled playfully at a few women in the front row. They blushed and giggled and offered up twenty dollar bills and phone numbers like offerings to a hungry god.

As the song started up for the third dance in his set Dean felt someone watching him. Not like the crowds below. It was different, and made him shiver. He looked around for a second, but the lights were bright and he had work to do. Still… Dean smirked. If this person was looking so intently, it couldn't hurt to give them a show to remember.

Dean licked his lips as he grabbed his lasso. He spun it lazily around his head to the tune of his hips, tapping a foot to the tune of the music. His spur clanked against the stage.

Suddenly he whipped his lasso forward and caught one of the girls who worked the other six nights of the week, his plant in the audience. He tugged her forward onto the stage and she licked her lips as he crouched before crawling towards her. She pulled away coyly and he snapped rope slightly, reeling her in closer. She leaned forward at the same time he did, but just before their lips touched he pulled back and stalked to the other side of the stage, still holding the rope like a leash.

He pulled off his vest in impatient jerks and tossed it carelessly to the side, his eyes still locked on his "prey". He snapped his hips forward as he pulled her forward, repeating it until she was half on stage with him. Whoever the mystery watcher was, Dean hoped they were as jealous of the girl as the rest of the audience seemed to be, based on the way they held out money for his attention.

The song was close to over, so Dean let go of the rope and the woman fell back in her seat, looking dazed, her pupils blown wide. He plopped his hat on her head with a wicked smile.

Dean finished his set and picked up the money around him. He waited for the stranger to come forward, but soon realized that he could no longer feel those eyes watching him. Feeling weirdly disappointed, Dean took his cash and headed backstage.

* * *

As he got out of the shower Dean noticed two things. One, towels may cover more skin than a speedo, but they feel a hell of lot more revealing. And two, apparently all it took to feel uncomfortable changing in front of another guy was for him to have really pretty eyes.

"Hello, Dean," the Angel said. He was either socially adept enough to not feel awkward even in the changing room of a strip club, or socially awkward enough to not realize that it was weird.

"Hey," said Dean, heading over to his clothes. "Did you just finish a set?"

He nodded. He was obviously still a bit sweaty from his dances and Dean felt a little stupid for asking. "They were a very enthusiastic crowd. I feel the need to get very drunk."

Dean paused, distracted from wondering whether it would be more or less awkward to pull on his underwear while keeping the towel on by this new information. "But Gabe said you didn't get drunk?"

"Not while working," he explained. "Afterwards, however, it sounds like a very good idea."

"Tell you what, then. After you get cleaned up why don't you meet me at the Roadhouse. It's a good bar about ten blocks south of here. But I never get drunk with a man without knowing his name first…"

He blinked. "Castiel. And I would very much enjoy having a drink with you."


	3. Chapter 3

"No, Cas, for real, you have to try Ellen's pie. It is the best thing you will ever eat. _Ever._" Dean may have been stressing the point a little, but he was always the first to admit that he was a pushy drunk.

Castiel looked up from where he had been staring dubiously at Dean's fork. "Cas?"

"No, _pie._"

"It's just… You just called me Cas."

Dean considered this from the other side of the booth. "You mind?" he asked. "Your name is a bit of a mouf- of a mou- a bit wordy."

Cas stared at him intently, like Dean had just told him the secret to the universe. Or like he was counting Dean's freckles, perhaps. It could go either way. "It's fine," he said eventually. Leaning over, he took the bite of pie from Dean's fork. Dean startled a little; he'd forgotten that he was still holding his fork out in invitation. He blushed, nonsensically, and then blamed it on the alcohol.

"I've never had a nickname, before," Cas admitted, licking a stray bit of berry from his lips.

Dean felt as if they were having two entirely different conversations, but for the life of him couldn't remember what the other one was. He took another bite of pie and decided to join this one, instead. "That's just sad. Not even as a kid?"

"No," Cas said, downing another shot of whiskey. He'd been matching Dean drink for drink and then some, but seemed little worse for wear. "If we could avoid childhood stories tonight, I'd be grateful."

Dean shrugged. "'s fine. Didn't much like mine, either."

They settled into a comfortable sort of quiet after that. Dean finished his pie and his beer, ignoring the way it tasted sour and bitter together. Across from him Cas seemed to be taking in the bar. It wasn't much to look at, honestly. The wood was dark with age instead of polish, and the booths were lined with cheap plastic that practically glued itself to bare skin in the heat of summer. There was a TV at the end of the bar, but it was old and low def, and you had to squint to be able to tell that it was showing an archery tournament. Around the bar blue collar workers huddled over beers, more content in silence than with words. A few, like Bobby earlier, were eating breakfast in the booths instead. For Dean, this was home away from home, but looking around he wondered what Cas saw.

He looked back at Cas and was only somewhat surprised to see that Cas was already looking back at him. "Dean, is this a date?"

"_What?_ No-"

"I only ask-"

They stopped at the same time. Dean took a sip of his beer. "Are you gay?"

Cas sat up a little straighter, looking wary but defiant. His voice was even lower than usual when he asked, "Is that going to be a problem?"

"No, Cas- It's not…" Dean paused, thinking of how he wanted to say this.

Dean was bisexual. As a teenager, he'd made the mistake of telling his dad this. John just heard the part about still liking girls and told him that he could choose to be a man, or be a homo, and that only men were welcome in his house. Dean made a choice. The old man's liver gave out when Dean was 19, but it took him another 2 years after that to feel comfortable in his sexuality again. He hadn't done anything about it, except let himself look at different types of porn, though. At this point he was comfortable taking women home for a night, and wouldn't know how to find a man in a gay bar. Why disrupt his life when he was comfortable as he was?

The problem with explaining all of this was, Dean was drunk.

He soldiered on anyways. "I get it. I do. Guys are cool. I like guys. I hang out with guys all the time, and we get along great. Banging a dude would probably be pretty cool, too. And you're…" He sipped his beer philosophically. "But, chicks, man. Women are…" He contemplated this. He wasn't going to say easier, because damn if he hadn't met a high maintenance chick in his lifetime. He couldn't say more convenient, either, because that wasn't the only reason he went for them. "I sleep with women," he finished, lamely.

Cas had relaxed during his impromptu coming out speech. "I think I understand what you're trying to say Dean," he said kindly.

_Well, thank fuck one of us does, _thought Dean.

They got Ellen to bring them more alcohol, and the rest of the night afterwards was kind of a blur.

* * *

Sam woke up to the smell of pancakes and coffee. The smell of coffee wasn't an unusual scent to wake up to in itself, but the fact that it didn't smell burnt was interesting. Maybe Dean brought home a girl.

He took a shower and got dressed, then grabbed his physics textbook and shuffled towards the kitchen. He paused when he saw the blanket and pillow on the couch and he called out, "Benny?"

A rumpled, hung over looking man in an oversized trench coat stuck his head out of the kitchen. "Hello. You must be Sam. My name is Castiel."

Castiel disappeared back into the kitchen before Sam could respond. He followed him and was rewarded with a plate full of what looked like chocolate chip pancakes. "You don't have syrup, so I would suggest peanut butter and chocolate sauce," Castiel said while flipping another pancake.

Confused, Sam followed his instructions. "I didn't even know we had chocolate chips. Or pancake mix."

"They were in the back of your pantry. And it's not a mix."

"Did you use bananas?"

"They looked like they should be used." Castiel put the finished pancake on a plate and poured another into the pan.

Sam felt like he should have questions. Lots and lots of questions. But the truth was, he was hungry, and tired, and had a physics test first period that he wanted to do some last minute studying for. "Thanks," he said.

After a couple of minutes Castiel joined him and they ate in silence.

Castiel left a few minutes before the bus was due, after he had asked where the Roadhouse was so that he could pick up his car. Sam went to school. Dean woke up some time around two and found banana chocolate chip pancakes in the fridge, with a phone number written in neat, blocky numbers resting on top.


	4. Chapter 4

Dean returned home from the bank to a living room full of nerds. Sam was hunched over an ancient looking book with Kevin, while Garth and some blond chick Dean hadn't met before were typing away on a laptop. "History project," Sam said before Dean could ask anything.

"Cool. Just tell me when you guys get hungry; we'll get a pizza or something."

He flopped back on his bed a couple minutes later, bored out of his mind. Dean hated having days off. There was never anything to do. The Impala was running like a dream. If he tried to work on his day off from the garage again Bobby would probably yell at him about needing to take _some_ time off again. Benny was still at work. He couldn't go looking for a hook up when he had four teenagers camped out in his living room. He could read, but he'd read all the books in his room at least a dozen times and wasn't in the mood to read anyway. Maybe he could find a good anime…

Blinking up at his ceiling, he suddenly had an idea. He reached into his back pocket and pulled up the number he'd put in there that morning before tucking into some of the best pancakes he'd ever had. He put the number into his phone and texted Cas.

_**Dean:**__ thanks for breakfast._

He waited for a couple minutes before deciding that that was probably too boring to reply to.

_**Dean: **__we should hang out again sometime. thursday?_

Another few minutes passed and Dean decided he wasn't going to be a girl about this. He stuck his phone on the bedside table and got out his laptop.

* * *

Sam knocked on his door a couple hours later. Dean paused the latest episode of Dr. Sexy, cursing his little brother's timing. Dr. Sexy had just been about to save the life of his nemesis, Hugo Marcone, a dangerous gangster and the only person he could trust to smuggle his Venezuelan love child into the country. He shut the computer. "Yeah?"

Sam came in and eyed the closed computer on his brother's lap suspiciously. "You weren't watching anything weird, were you?"

Dean decided to not reply to that. "What do you need, Sammy?"

"We're all getting kind of hungry, so I was wondering if you could order those pizzas for us?"

Dean grabbed his phone from the nightstand. There was a text he'd missed earlier and he opened it, thinking that Cas had replied.

_**Bobby: **__BBQ next Saturday._

"Dean?"

"Hmm? Yeah. Bobby just texted. Don't make plans next Saturday, we're going over to his place for dinner," Dean said, before dialing the pizza place a few blocks from their house. "What do you crazy kids want anyway?"

Sam fidgeted a little. "Um. One pepperoni and one veggie."

Dean frowned at him. What sorts of teenagers ordered a veggie pizza?

"Jessica's a vegetarian and we should probably eat more vegetables anyway," Sam said defensively. "It's good for you."

Dean leered at him. "Her name's Jessica, huh?"

Sam threw up his hands and blushed, slamming Dean's door behind him when he left. Dean was still chuckling when the bored kid at the pizza joint finally picked up the phone.

* * *

Dean was halfway back home from picking up their pizzas when his phone buzzed in his pocket. He juggled the food in one hand while he fished his phone out with the other. He saw that the calls were from Cas' number and he smiled a dorky little smile. It buzzed again in his hand and he checked his texts.

_**Cas: **__I apologize for not getting back to you earlier. I just received your text._

_**Cas: **__I was going over my latest draft with my advisor. _

_**Cas:**__ He takes away my phone when we meet._

_**Dean: **__no problem. drinks?_

_**Cas: **__Of course._

Dean nearly dropped the pizzas putting his phone back in his pocket. He still smiled absently all the way home.

Hours later, when all the pizza had been finished and the nerds sent home, Dean wandered out to the living room where Sam was typing up the latest draft of his essay for Stanford.

"You get a lot done tonight?" he asked.

Sam saved the essay and closed the computer. "Yeah. We're going to try to get it all done this weekend, so I'll probably be out a lot. You going to be cool being alone the whole weekend?"

Dean snorted. "What am I, a finicky plant you gotta water every couple of hours? I'll be fine," he said, and it was the truth. He was going to be out working most of the day, and he could probably convince Benny to go do something after. Sure, Dean might have been used to he and Sam living out of each other's pockets, but he had to get used to him being around less sometime.

"I don't know. I'm pretty sure without me around your only food group would be pie," Sam said.

Dean smacked him lightly upside the head. "Bitch."

"Jerk."


	5. Chapter 5

Sam sighed as he finally exited the library. He'd spent the entire Saturday and half of his Sunday crammed into the libraries hard, little, plastic chairs, crouched over history books and also working on a power point they were assembling on his laptop. He shifted his backpack, but his back still hurt. At least they'd gotten it done. That left his next weekend clear for the barbeque and college applications.

He was deciding whether head straight home and suffer Dean's "cooking," or going to the In n' Out on his way home and claim he got it with the others, when a girl called out to him in a loud stage whisper.

"Hey."

He paused, looked around- saw nothing. For a second he wondered if he was hallucinating from stress, but then he heard her again, "Hey, a little help here?"

He looked up to see a girl with wavy, black hair and dark, mischievous eyes staring at him expectantly from her perch on top of a nearby roof. There wasn't a ladder nearby.

"How?" Sam asked, not sure if he was asking how she got up there, or how he was supposed to help her down.

She smiled down at him. "You look like a big guy. Catch me."

It's not like she gave him a choice. One second she was sitting on the roof and the next she was jumping and he was stepping forward. When she landed on him he let out a startled grunt and almost tipped over, but righted himself the end. Instead of giving him time to recover, she suddenly grabbed his hand, sprinting at full speed away from the house. A few seconds later he heard an angry man yelling after them. Her laughter trailed in their wake.

Freaking out, but feeling oddly giddy, Sam ran right behind her. They cut through an alley a few blocks away and suddenly they were on a quiet street with stately houses and tasteful lawns, lined with looming, dignified trees. He had no idea where he was.

But the yelling was distant now. The girl had stopped laughing in favor of gasping for breath as they slowed to a walk. She grinned up at him and he suddenly recognized her. She had been in AP English with him Junior year, but mostly she had sat in the back and ignored class in favor of her friends, but whenever the teacher though, called on her she always seemed to know the answer. He thought she was named after some kind of jewel… Jade? Crystal? Gem? "Ruby?"

"Hi Sam," she said. "How's it going?"

* * *

It turned out that she lived in that neighborhood, just a few blocks away. They caught up as they ambled to it. Half way there he realized that he was still holding her hand and went to pull away, but she just gave his hand a little squeeze and he stopped.

They talked about the colleges they were applying to. It turned out that her first choice was his safety school. He blurted it out and then blanched at what he just said. Ruby just rolled her eyes at him. "Yeah, well not everyone wants to go to Stanford, dumbo."

He tried to ask her what she was doing on the roof at one point. She tried to answer, she honestly did, but she wound up laughing too hard all over again and they actually had to stop walking for a minute so she wouldn't topple over. All he heard was something about Lilith being a bitch and taking her ladder.

Eventually they paused in front of a big house with a tiny, but well-manicured lawn. "This is me," Ruby said.

"Right." Sam started to take his hand back once again, but once again she held on to it. He waited.

She said, "Nerd," and let out a huff of laughter. He frowned at her, a little offended and a lot confused. "There's a party next Saturday at Lilith's. You are coming with me."

"Um," he replied. It wasn't that he didn't like her. She was beautiful and smart and he liked her laugh, but he was sure there was something he had to do…

Ruby raised an eyebrow at him. "Really? You do realize that when a hot girl invites you to a party you're supposed to say yes. What else are you going to be doing? Writing essays? They're not hard. I'm sure you can take one night off. Unless you don't want to…" She trailed off, looking at him curiously.

"Yeah. I mean, yes, I would like to go with you, but I'm not sure if I can." He thought of telling Dean that he was going partying and wasn't sure whether Dean would slap him on the back in congratulations and give him drinking advice, or slap him upside the head and give him a lecture about his future. He wasn't sure which one he would like less. Ruby was still watching him. Did it really matter what Dean thought? It's not like Dean would try to stop him. "You know what, yeah. Should I meet you there, or?"

She patted his chest with the hand that wasn't holding his. "I'll pick you up," she offered, "I'll see you at nine." Then she let him go and slipped away into the house.

He didn't remember anything about the barbeque until he was half way home.


End file.
